


a better world,

by Nerd_of_Camelot



Series: given time, [6]
Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: Feelings, Gen, Introspection, Jak Has Feelings, Jak is Bad at Feelings, Jak needs a hug, Jak-Centric, Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 08:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26969218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_of_Camelot/pseuds/Nerd_of_Camelot
Summary: Jak has found the royal archives.Emptiness is so much easier than processing the information he finds and the emotions that should come with it.
Series: given time, [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795468
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	a better world,

**Author's Note:**

> Words were transfer/limp
> 
> Sorry for the delay y'all the last few months have kicked my ass
> 
> Also i dont normally post on mobile so im sorry if the format is wonky? i'll mess with it on desktop if it's too bad when i check on it later so i can tag it better lol

_ “Prince Mar,” _ Spoke the voice, after he had finally managed to swallow the sludgy feeling and approach the screen and the keyboard below it,  _ “The archives appear to be outdated. An update is required.” _

He wasn’t surprised, nor was he exactly keen on all the work that would inevitably need to be done on these archives. All he was really worried about right now, if he was honest, was reading up on his family―maybe even himself.

He furrowed his brows and wasn’t sure what to think when he realized he actually knew how to operate this. He flicked through the archives until he found his father’s and swallowed. Hard.

_ “Highness, what is his Majesty’s status?” _ The voice asked, almost managing to sound curious despite the clearly computer-generated element.

Jak sighed. Chewed his lip.

“King Damas is dead,” He finally managed to say, not sure if the strange voice could hear him in return or not. But then, as he watched the screen and started to try to read, he watched his father’s status update from ‘Unknown’ to ‘Deceased’.

_ “Understood, Highness. What was the date of his death?” _

Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be so hard to do after all.

He glanced down, seeing how the computer kept track of the date because it was  _ vastly _ different than how they’d kept track back in Sandover. It was a relief, at least, to know that he remembered this, vaguely. He checked back on the calender, tracking back in his mind the best he could.

He was pretty sure he’d died in the fall, because the wastelands hadn’t been completely unbearable like they were in the spring or summer, but hadn’t gotten to freezing temperatures at night like the winter. So that gave him two-ish months to work with and he was pretty sure he knew the date of that attack…

“Thirteenth of October,” He said, “649, Current Era. He was crushed by an overturned vehicle.”

_ “Understood.” _ The voice chimed, and he was sure there’d been another update somewhere in the file, along with the date adding itself in just below his status.  _ “Have you ascended the throne, Highness?” _

“No.”

_ “When is the coronation?” _

“Unknown. There was a coup… My father’s court overthrew him and tossed him into the wasteland. The city is a democracy―no one currently sits the throne and there are very few who are aware of my blood.”

Somehow, the plain, almost detached way that speaking so formally came out made him feel… Better. More comfortable. Maybe because all that mattered when speaking formally was getting the point across, especially speaking to whatever strange program was speaking back to him. There didn’t need to be any feeling.

Was the wording off from what he’d normally say? Absolutely.

But his usual speech patterns left room for emotion, when it was needed.

It was not needed right now.

He was glad that it wasn't, because he still didn't know how to feel about Damas's death. Still wasn't sure if he really felt anything about it other than angry and maybe even sort of insulted.

But focusing on the insult of Errol taking first his humanity, then his father, would get him nowhere fast, and he settled all too easily into the emptiness that surged up to greet him when he pushed the anger away.

_ "Understood."  _ Said the voice,  _ "I will update the database accordingly. Please feel free to add any relevant information at your leisure, Highness." _

He chose not to respond verbally, giving a break to his poor vocal chords. He still wasn't actually used to the talking thing―not really. Sometimes he forgot his limits with it. Sometimes they simply blindsided him.

Today, at least, he hadn't yet spoken enough to reach his limit.

That would be beneficial when he inevitably had to explain where he'd gone to Daxter, and especially to anyone else who may have needed him while he was gone. Daxter may well begrudgingly accept a simple, "There was something I needed to take care of," but anyone else would need more convincing.

People were complicated.

Breathing out a sigh, he began to read his father's file. He put all other thoughts out of his mind.

And when he was done with that, he moved on to trying to manually update the other files. It was… Exhausting. Enough so that, eventually, he performed a manual override on the system (he didn't even know he knew how to do  _ that _ before he did it) and reconnected it to Haven's information network. He did not authorize any files from within to be accessed or seen from Haven's information network, but he allowed automatic updates of the files within based on the information readily available.

The speed at which the files updated themselves after that was satisfying.

But then, archives up to date and father learned about and memory-dream confirmed as truth, he knew he had to move on. He could come back here at any time, but frankly he didn't want to have to come out of his emptiness to process the information he'd received until he was somewhere a  _ little _ more secure than here.

And by that he meant, of course, that if he happened to experience any new emotions as a result, he would much rather do it in the comfort of his own home.

So he stepped away from the computer terminal, hearing the voice chime,  _ "Sleep mode activated. Archive locked. Goodbye, Prince Mar." _

He said nothing, simply turned away.

Limped toward the door and wondered when his leg had started hurting so badly. Had he been hit earlier? Was he simply stiff from standing in one place for nearly nine hours?

He supposed that it didn't matter.

If he was lucky, he'd arrive back at the Naughty Ottsel after closing time and only have to deal with Daxter.

He set off for the docks and did his best not to favor his leg too noticeably.

Even as it was now, there was no room in Haven for weakness.


End file.
